


Anger Wants a Voice (Inside a Place You Thought Was Dignified)

by stardustgirl



Series: Full-length Fics [13]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: (and yes that's important), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, But also, Capture, Crimes & Criminals, Ezra Bridger Needs a Hug, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Heavy Angst, Imperial Security Bureau (Star Wars), Imperialism, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Interrogation, Medium Angst, Minor Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Misunderstandings, Pre-Rogue One, Saw's Partisans, Space Dad Kanan Jarrus, Space Mom Hera Syndulla, Teenage Ezra Bridger, Teenage Rebellion, The Partisans - Freeform, fake break up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-03-08 09:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: While on an intel raid for Fulcrum on Garel, the crew of theGhostfinds and frees an Imperial prisoner.  Now they just have to keep him out of Imperial hands.  Easy enough, right?(Wrong.)





	1. i took the pistol (and i've shot the lights)

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a oneshot, as pretty much all of my full-length fics do. Now, I have no idea how long it'll be :)

Kanan keys the door open, nearly stumbling back a step when the boy, lying prone and lifeless on the bunk when he left, greets him with what looks almost like _Zeb’s bo-rifle_ pointed at his chin.  He raises his hands in a placating gesture.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, kid.”

The kid scoffs, jabbing forward with the pointed end of the bo-rifle at him. He takes a quick step back, glad the kid clearly hasn’t figured out how to turn it on.

“Yeah?  Then why am I locked up?”

Fair point.  “We rescued you from an Imperial facility,” Kanan begins slowly, careful to keep his voice even.  The boy rolls his eyes. “You were knocked out when we got there, so we took the liberty of getting you out and—”

“And what if I didn’t _want_ to leave, huh?  You ever think of that?”  Another jab with the bo-rifle, another step back.  Kanan regrets putting him in Zeb’s cabin.

“Kid, I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to _stay_ in Imperial custody—”

“I had it under control!  I was going to get out when I had the information I needed!”

Wait, informa—

“I didn’t need _you_ coming in and kriffing everything up!”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t have everything under control if you were in an Imperial cell and drugged out of your mind,” Kanan shoots back before the kid can get another word in.  The boy’s mouth opens and then closes as Kanan speaks again. “Now put the bo-rifle down and we can talk about this like civilized people.”

“No!” the kid yells forcefully, jabbing with the bo-rifle again.  Kanan sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes, and moves to take the bo-rifle out of the kid’s hands.  He jerks back into the room violently, and they grapple briefly for a moment before Kanan manages to wrestle it away from him.

“Okay, first rule on the _Ghost:_ don’t take things that aren’t yours.”  The kid snorts, rolling his eyes and folding his arms as he glares up.

“Who’s gonna stop me?”

“I am.  Go sit on the bunk, this feels too much like a standoff.”

“No, _you_ go sit on the bunk.”

Kanan stares at him for a long moment but remains standing.  “Alright. We can do it this way if you want.”

The kid makes a sound of disagreement but doesn’t react otherwise, only watching Kanan warily.  He sighs, deciding that this will have to do.

“Okay kid, where are you from?  We can drop you off there. And _don’t_ say the Imperial compound.”

The boy glowers at him, and it’s nearly a minute before he answers, tone biting.  “I’m not telling you that.”

“Alright, then where _can_ we drop you at?”

His eyes narrow.  “Nowhere.”

“So you’re saying you don’t care where we take you, or that you want to stay with us?”

The kid’s eyes narrow further.  “Neither.”

“Then _where—_ ”

“Kanan!  Fulcrum wants to talk to you.”  He whips around at Hera’s voice, coming from the cockpit, and the kid takes the chance to push past him and slip out the door.  Kanan follows, charging after him only to see him disappear around a corner into the common room. There’s a strangled yelp, followed by a thud right before Kanan enters.

Zeb’s standing over the kid, lip curling into a snarl when the boy starts to stand.  He doesn’t turn when he speaks to Kanan.

“Wha’s this kid doin’ ‘ere?  He tried t’ _jump me!_ ”

Kanan moves up, shooting a glance at Zeb as the boy stands and backs against the wall, still glaring defiantly at them.  Kanan gestures to the booth behind the dejarik table, moving to let the boy aside. Zeb raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure.  So why don’t we ask _h—_ ”

The boy bolts again, slipping under Zeb’s outstretched arm as he darts to the galley.  Zeb growls as he and Kanan give chase, but by the time they get the door keyed open again—the boy must’ve shut it in his mad dash—he’s on the counter and fiddling with the ceiling vent.  He doesn’t glance back, only continuing to mess with the vent cover until he manages to get it open. He jumps, wiggling into the shaft as Zeb grabs for his leg. The kid reaches a hand out, pulling the grate closed below him with a clang.

Kanan sighs, exchanging a glance with his crewmate.  Zeb’s ears twitch, and he finally drops his gaze from the now-occupied vent to Kanan.

“Kanan!” Hera calls again.  He sighs, running a hand over his face.

“Get Chopper and Sabine, see if you guys can flush him out somehow _without_ damaging the ship.  Hera said Fulcrum needed me.”  Zeb grunts in acknowledgement and follows Kanan out, the former stopping at Sabine’s cabin as the latter continues to the cockpit.  He keys the door open and enters, stopping at Hera’s shoulder as he stares at the hovering Fulcrum symbol.

“ _Is Kanan there?_ ”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replies to the distorted voice.

“ _Good.  Hera said your crew picked up an Imperial prisoner recently._ ”

The boy.

“Yeah.  We did. On Garel.”

Fulcrum inhales sharply.  “ _Stay in hyperspace as long as possible.  And keep away from any Imperial hotspots at all costs._ ”

“Wait, why are you telling us that?  We already do that.”

“This _is why._ ”

Fulcrum’s symbol disappears and instead a hologram of a wanted notice pulls up, the face on it familiar.  Kanan sucks in a breath, glancing at Hera.

“Wait, Fulcrum, question—why is _he_ so valuable?”

“ _Look at his affiliations.  I’ll send this to Hera. Fulcrum out._ ”  The notice disappears, and after quickly typing some commands into the console, Hera pulls it back up again.  Kanan scans the notice, mouth suddenly dry as he reads the list of offenses.

_Possession of stolen property._

_Resisting arrest._

_Aggravated assault._

_Hijacking of Imperial property._

_Unauthorized possession of a weapon._

_Unauthorized use of a weapon._

_Theft against the Empire._

_Breach of the peace._

_Terrorism._

_Subscription to dangerous ideologies._

_Sedition._

_Refusal to cooperate with Imperial authorities._

_Treason._

This is the same kid they’d picked up on Garel?

Hera gave a low whistle.  “This kid’s got quite the rap sheet.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, distracted.  He’s reached the affiliations section of the document Fulcrum had suggested they take a look at.

_Former: The Bridger Broadcasts (Lothal)_

_Current: The Partisans (Unknown)_

“Kanan,” Hera says quietly.  He glances over at her.

“What?”

“The warning.  Look at the warning, and the bounty.”

_Dangerous, only kill as a last resort._

_₹7,000_

“Why…?”

“Maybe he knows things,” Hera mumbles.  She glances up to meet his gaze. “Maybe he knows things they don’t want him to.”

A blaster fires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone calm Ezra down before he hurts somebody please.


	2. wondering if i’m gonna wake up (and be flying)

Kanan and Hera bolt out of the cockpit together, skidding to a stop in the common room to see the boy— _Ezra, his name’s Ezra—_ standing on top of the dejarik table with one of Sabine’s blasters aimed at her, Zeb, and Chopper on the ground.

“Kid, what the _kriff?!_ ” Kanan yells.  At the first word, the kid’s head whips around and he snarls.

“Don’t _call me that!_ ”  He turns the blaster on Kanan now.

“Just get down here, _calmly,_ give Sabine her blaster back, and we can, I don’t know, maybe talk about this without _aiming blasters everywhere?_ ”

“No.”

Kanan barks a laugh, taking a step forward.  “No? Kid, you’re on _our ship,_ and you’re _holding a blaster and aiming—_ “

He gets no warning when the blaster fires, the Force only telling him to take a step to the side.  Hera moves out of the way in time too, thankfully. Sabine takes the chance to tackle the kid, knocking him back against the booth behind the table.  They grapple for several moments before she finally sits up, cocking and aiming the blaster at his face with a knee pressed against his chest.

“Sabine, put the blaster down,” Hera starts slowly.  The girl shakes her head, vibrant green hair flying.

“No.  He’ll just get it back if I do.”  As if to punctuate her words, Ezra surges up, making a bid for the blaster once more.  Sabine adjusts her knee, still keeping him pinned—though with some difficulty now, Kanan notes—as she draws her other blaster.

“Alright then.  We can work with this, I guess,” Kanan sighs.

“Let me _go!_ ” Ezra shouts.

“Calm down first.  We know who you are,” Kanan says.  The kid freezes before beginning to thrash again, nearly upsetting Sabine’s precarious position.

“Ezra!” Kanan shouts finally.  The kid stills again, shooting him a glare.  “Let’s just talk about this for a minute. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Chopper beeps something that sounds contrary to his statement.  Kanan shoots him a glare.

“Then why does she have me pinned?!”

“Because you just aimed a blaster at my _face!_ ” Sabine shouts in return.

“Ezra!  Sabine! Both of you calm _down!_ ” Hera says loudly.  Unsurprisingly, it works.

“Look, kid.  We’re not gonna turn you back in to the Empire.  We just want to underst—“

“Kriff _off!_ ” Ezra yells without warning, shoving against Sabine hard enough to finally knock her off of him.  He gets into a crouch, eyeing them all warily.

“Ezra, we’re not—“

“How do I know you won’t?!  Just take me the kriff back to that cell!”

“We’re _not_ taking you back to Garel!”

“Then just kriff off and leave me somewhere so I can go back!”

“Go back _where?!_ ”  Ezra falls silent, face draining of color as if realizing something.  He draws back against the wall, shifting his weight and mouth moving slightly as he seems to be...talking to himself?

“Ezra?” Kanan asks gently, taking a wary step closer.  The kid’s eyes widen at the movement and he whimpers slightly, hugging his knees as he moves to sit down fully.

“Is the kid okay, Kanan?” Zeb calls.  Kanan shrugs, confused as he stares at the boy.

“I’m...not sure.”

He takes another step closer and the boy jerks back, watching Kanan’s movements with narrowed eyes.

“Ezra?” he asks again.

“I’m not– not telling you _anything,_ ” he says quietly, voice wavering.  _Oh boy._

“Ezra, I’m not interrogating you—“

“I’m not telling you _anything!_ ”

“Ezra—“

“ _No!_ ”  The kid throws a hand up, as if to block Kanan’s approach.

However, that's not all he does.

A wave of _something_ hits Kanan, making him stumble back.  Sabine grunts as she’s knocked into the wall, and even the others are forced back, too.  He stares up at the boy in shock.

Ezra’s staring at his hand, shaking, before he raises his head to meet Kanan’s gaze.  He senses the kid’s decision only moments before and raises a hand. “Kid, wait—“

Ezra bolts.  Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I didn’t forget about this AU and sorry for the short chapter but it felt like a good spot to end it.


	3. i don't like a story (without a real good twist)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced Torture

“He’s a handful, alright.”

Kanan plops down in the seat behind Hera’s, massaging his temples.  She watches him carefully before clearing her throat, turning her chair to fully face both him and the others.

“Well?”

“Well _what?_ ”

Hera shrugs.  “What are we doing next?”

Kanan finally raises his head, looking at her.  “Why are you asking me?”

“Because the rest of us aren’t Jedi, Kanan,” Sabine points out.  “ _You,_ however, are.”

He sighs and nods in agreement.  “The kid definitely isn’t a Jedi, either, though.”

“‘e can use the Force,” Zeb says in confusion.

“That’s not enough.  To be a Jedi, you have to...you have to _want_ to be one.  To want to live like them.  You have to make the decision _yourself._ ”

“So you think Ezra won’t make that decision?”  Hera’s face draws together in concern.

“No.  Yes. Maybe.  I dunno,” he finally says, sighing again and burying his face in his hands.  “I’m just not sure.”

“He works for Saw.  You told us once that the Jedi believe that life is sacred, that you shouldn’t take it if you don’t have to.  I’m not sure the kid would agree with that.”

He nods, conceding to Sabine’s point.  “Yeah. I did. And you’re right. The Partisans aren’t exactly pacifists.”

“And we’re assuming that just because he worked with them he’s not, either?”

“The kid kriffing aimed a blaster at us _multiple times,_ Hera.  I wanna give him the benefit of the doubt, but...I think we’ve passed that point by now.”

“He’s just scared—“

“I get that.  But I honestly don’t think he would’ve hesitated to use it, had he believed he was genuinely in danger.”

The crew sits in silence for several minutes, thinking.  Finally Kanan rises from his seat again.

“I’m gonna try and take him some food, see if he’s calmed down.”

“Be careful, love.”

“I will.”

Kanan exits the cockpit, heading straight to Zeb’s now-cleared room.  Until they know the kid won’t try and kill them upon entry, it’s the best option.  He knocks quickly before opening it, entering with a smile.

“Hey.”

The kid is sitting in the corner on the bunk, knees drawn up to his chest.  His gaze still tracks Kanan with the intensity of a hawk-bat and he swallows, suddenly nervous.

“I brought you food.”  He raises the ration bar, gently tossing it to the opposite side of the bunk.  The kid flinches, a brief, barely noticeable movement, but Kanan still catches it.  “You want it?”

“No,” he says in a soft voice.  Kanan shrugs but nods.

“Fair enough.  It’s there if you want it.”

He turns to go, and as he keys open the door, Ezra clears his throat.  “Wait.”

Kanan turns back.  “Yeah?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, kid.”  He shrugs. “Just for you to be safe.”

“Everyone wants something.”  His eyes narrow in suspicion, and Kanan has to withhold a sigh at the guarded reply.

“Not us, kid.  Not us.”

He leaves.

* * *

Ezra Bridger is going to be karking _dead_ the minute he returns to base, and he knows that very well.

And yet, _somehow,_ he still wants to return to said base.

He feels the minute the ship drops out of hyperspace and starts preparing himself.  He already has a plan for when it lands, though he’s not sure how well he’ll be able to enact it.

He waits until the human male comes again, opens the door.

And then he bolts.

He slips under the man’s arm, letting out a breathy laugh at the fact he’s somehow still able to run after the interrogations earlier.  He slips past the Mando girl, too, though he skids to a halt in the common room. Which way now?

The Voice tells him the ladder.

He slides down it, landing unsteadily and shaking his head to clear it before bolting again.  He charges to the cargo bay door, slamming a fist on the ramp controls. It opens. Slowly.

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, swallowing back the terror rising in his chest.  _“What will you do if they_ catch _you?” Saw questions, pacing in front of him and Jyn.  “What will you do if they break_ _you?”  He stops, sighing and massaging his temples.  “You two can’t keep running off.”_

_He nods in agreement immediately, but catches Jyn’s slight pause before copying him._

_It was one of the last times he’d seen her._

The ramp hasn’t quite hit the ground when he runs out, stumbling to the ground after jumping the remaining distance.  He bolts across the prairie, not paying attention to the shouts still coming from the ship behind him. Ezra allows himself a slight grin.

He just has to find a ship and get it back to base.  And then he’s scot-free.


	4. i know that it's a waste of time (chasing in the dark)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child Abuse, Torture of a Child, Referenced Drug Use by a Minor (Non-Consensual), Implied/Referenced Threat of Violence to Child, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorder

“Why– get in _side,_ boy, before someone sees you!”

Saw grabs him by the arm, pulling him into the safehouse before Ezra can object.  The man glares down at him as he fidgets, trying to get his story together.

“Why are you back early?”

Ezra finally glances up to meet his gaze again.  “There were some...complications,” he answers finally, voice kept neutral.

Saw raises an eyebrow.  “ _Complications._ ”  He coughs suddenly, a hand pounding against his armored chest before he continues.  “What _kind_ of complications?”

“I– they discovered– they discovered me, and then they drugged me and then I got kidnapped by a bunch of terrorists—“

“But _why_ did they drug you?”

“What?”  His brows wrinkle in confusion as Saw elaborates.

“ _Why_ did they drug you?  They're despicable, but they don’t like wasting resources on mere children.  What did they catch you _doing?_ ”

“I– well, when they found me, I was– I was in an air vent.”  He cringes at the memory, at the feeling of the terror rising in his chest again as an armored hand grips him by the ankle and _pulls—_

“You were too loud.”

“I– yeah.  Yeah, I was.  Yeah,” he relents, nodding sullenly and glaring at the ground.  Saw clears his throat, coughing as he does so.

“Go get something to eat, Ezra.  We’ll talk after.”

He nods, slipping past Saw and heading to what passes as both a kitchen and a bunk.  He ignores the sleeping Gotal on a moth-eaten mattress in the corner and moves on to the cupboards.  Opening the half-broken door of one, he has to scramble on top of the counter to peer in. He spots the torn packaging of a ration bar and pulls it out, hopping off the counter and not bothering to shut the cabinet as he pulls down on the wrapping and bites into the bar.  Immediately, his face screws up at how stale it is, but he forces it down and continues. They don’t have enough food for him to try something else and waste this, and besides, he needs to stay skinny enough he can fit in the vents. He’s not any use to them otherwise.

He heads out of the kitchen, moving through the oddly vacant safehouse silently and feeling almost like a ghost.  He’s not sure where Saw is, but he still has a few minutes while he finishes the ration bar.

Mentally, he calculates the next time he’ll be able to eat.  Assuming the drugs are flushed out of his system (and he doesn’t get sick from his current ration) and he isn’t sent back out on a mission or taken to a different safehouse in the meantime, he can probably grab something else in two rotations.

He runs into Saw a minute or so after he finishes the bar.  The cyborg gestures for Ezra to follow him into another room, shutting the door behind him as he does so.  He sits heavily in one of the chairs before the table, the already-strained wood creaking further, and crosses his arms.  Ezra sits in the chair opposite, not waiting to ask for permission.

“What did you find out?” Saw leans forward as he asks, not bothering with small talk.  Ezra’s used to this; he’s actually _never_ heard small talk—or even any equivalent of it—emerge from the man’s mouth.

“Uh...nothing.”

Saw’s brows raise as his eyes widen.  The man leans back slightly in his chair, silent.

In all honesty, this reaction scares Ezra more than any explosion ever could.

He rushes to defend himself, running a hand through his hair.  “I mean– I mean I overheard the guards talking. Something about blood tests, and miss– missians or something, and someone having a bunch of them, and then some visitor was coming—”

Saw slams a hand down on the small table between them and Ezra jumps, breath catching.

_A hand strikes him, further bloodying his lower jaw as another hand grips him by the hair and jerks his head back._

_“Let’s try that_ again. _”_

“What.  Visitor,” the man grits out, voice low.  Ezra swallows hoarsely, leaning back subconsciously.

“I– I don’t know, I’m so—”

Saw grabs his wrist, twisting it as he rises until Ezra is forced out of his chair and halfway to his knees with the awkward angle.  His breathing quickens and he trembles, staring up at Saw wide-eyed.

_It’s just practice.  Just like you and Jyn have done with him thousands of times._

Except this time, Jyn isn’t here.

“Saw– I don’t– Saw I _promise_ I _don’t know they never said I didn’t he—_ ”

Saw twists his wrist half a centimeter more before releasing it and stepping back, face unreadable as Ezra forces himself back to his feet.

“I need to know, Ezra: were you compromised?” the man asks after giving Ezra a moment to recover.  He shakes his head, still cradling his wrist. He’d give _anything_ for Jyn to be here right now, whether standing beside him or fighting with him until they both have bloody noses and broken fingers.  Either way would be fine by him.

“No, I– I wasn’t.”

“Are you _absolutely sure?_ ”

“Ye– yeah, of course, of course I am—”

Saw grabs him by the hair, striding forward and throwing him back against the wall.  Ezra barely holds back the whimper that tries to tear itself from his throat as Saw’s grip moves to his windpipe.

“Listen to me _very closely,_ Ezra.  Are. You.  _Sure._ ”

He nods frantically, gasping for breath.  “Ye– yes, I am, yeah! I– I– I promise!”

Saw holds him against the wall a moment longer before releasing him, throwing him to the ground.  Ezra coughs, catching himself just before his nose hits the cracked duracrete, and glances up into the man’s cold eyes.  Slowly, Saw lowers himself to Ezra’s eye level. The boy barely holds himself back from flinching at the intensity of his gaze.

“Your first solo mission, and you fail so _spectacularly._   In this rebellion, Ezra, we have room for only the strong.  Fail again, and you’ll see what happens to the rest.” He rises and straightens.  Ezra remains on his hands and knees, still trying to regain his composure. As Saw moves to leave, however, the teen rises and braces himself on the wall unsteadily.

“Is that...is that why Jyn left?”

Saw pauses in the doorway, not speaking for a minute.  When he does, he turns his head just enough Ezra can see his profile.

“Jyn was weak and she knew it, Ezra.  Next time you feel like returning early, compromised, and with no intel, remember that.”

He leaves.


	5. lost my way (around)

“ _So he escaped?_ ”

Kanan nods.  “Yeah. He ran one time when we landed, slipped past all of us somehow and out the cargo bay ramp.  He has the Force, too,” he adds in a lowered voice. Fulcrum’s hooded avatar nods.

“ _Hmm.  If I get wind of him, I’ll contact you._ ”

“We’ll be sure to do the same,” Hera agrees.

“ _Thank you.  Fulcrum out._ ”  The avatar fizzles into nothing within a few seconds and Kanan rubs the back of his neck, glancing over at Hera.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You’re the ex-Jedi.  Where do _you_ think he is?”

Sighing, Kanan leans forward, steepling his fingers together on the console and leaning his forehead on them.  “I dunno, in all honesty. I didn’t get a chance to lock onto his signature by the time he left. And he doesn’t seem to be wanting to advertise that fact, either, which only makes our job harder.”

Hera squeezes his arm lightly.  “It makes the Empire’s job harder, too,” she reminds him quietly.  “We’ve both taken a step back. Now all we _can_ do is take a step forward.”

He nods in agreement.  “Okay.”

“Want to go make dinner, love?  I can start checking with some of our other contacts.”  She doesn’t have to mention that he’s a lot better at cooking than she is, either; it’s just a given at this point.  He nods with a smile and stands, running a hand through his hair before leaving for the galley.

He’s barely started getting the ingredients together when Sabine bursts into the galley.  “Kanan!”

“What?” he asks, turning.  He frowns at her alarmed expression.

“We found him.”

* * *

When the _Ghost_ drops into the Lothal system, Kanan immediately feels ill at ease.  He shifts in his seat, glancing over at Hera. She catches the look out of the corner of her eye.

“What is it, love?”

“I’m...not sure.  Something’s just...wrong.”

She nods, returning her full attention to piloting even as she responds to him.  “The Force?”

“Maybe.  I’m not sure,” he repeats.  “I just...feel off.”

She makes a noise of understanding.  “Hmm. Well, we’ll land, and then you can decide what to do.”  He nods.

“Okay.”

They land the ship in a spaceport on Lothal.  Kanan rubs the back of his neck before swiveling his chair to face Sabine and Zeb.  Hera follows suit.

“Zeb, Sabine, you’ll be checking the north side of town.  Chopper and I are taking on the east and the Imp complex. Hera’s got backup covered.  Everyone good?”

They all nod, and even Chopper lets out a defeated beep, but Zeb raises a hand.  “Uh, question. What _are_ we supposed t’ be lookin’ for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”  When he’s greeted by blank stares, Kanan sighs and continues.  “Mostly any signs of Ezra, but if you notice anything weird with the Imps, comm the rest of us, too.”

“Got it,” Zeb says, nodding.  Smiling, Kanan rises with the rest of the group minus Hera, and they head toward the cargo bay.

* * *

Ezra huddles in the corner, trying to look as inconspicuous and yet as unapproachable as possible as he clutches his mug with both hands.  It’s the lowest grade alcohol they have, but it was apparently still enough for the barkeep not to pay much attention to his age after he ordered it.  It helps add to the “Weird Traveler Who Would Kriffing _Kill Yo_ u For One Meiloorun” vibe, too.

That’s important because something in this city is very, very wrong.

He’s not sure what though, and that’s the issue.  It seems almost like the Voice is warning him somehow, yet it won’t say _what._

Or _who._

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of white move past the window and instinctively ducks, nearly spilling his drink in the process.  And all for nothing, too—they weren’t stormtroopers, just a couple of individuals dressed for the Festival of Colors occurring this week.

His half-hearted approach at escaping notice from potential Imperials seems to have drawn attention, however.  A few gazes follow him as he gets up from the table, placing a small cred chip near the still-full glass before moving to exit.

He catches sight of too many people by the front entrance.  It’s fine. He knows the back way out, too.

Ezra turns, hoping the movement seems natural and not forced as he heads to the back.  Hopefully, they’ll just think he’s using the ‘fresher or something. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The door to the back exit is old, archaic enough it still has a doorknob and barely opens even when kicked.  As he’s trying to open it, he feels the cool metal of a blaster press against the back of his neck as his hairs stand up.

“Ezra.  Why don’t you step away from the door, and we can have a little chat?”


	6. they're trying to catch you (run boy run)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference (I think I forgot to say it earlier oops), Ezra's around 17 in this fic, and Jyn's about 19.
> 
> TW: Drug Use by a Minor (Non-Consensual), Death of Child (Hypothetical), Referenced Torture, Referenced Child Abuse

Jyn knocks back most of another glass before setting the drink down, watching as Ezra tries to comprehend the news she’s just dumped on him.  The younger teen isn’t freaking out externally. Yet. So far, he’s keeping it inside, remembering Jyn’s reaction the last time he let her see him get taken off guard.

“So, what you’re saying is….”

“This mission’s a set up.  Saw knew it’d be too hard to just kill you straight up.  His people don’t have morals, we both know that by now, but.”  She leans forward, voice dropping in both volume and pitch. “They don’t want to kill children if they can avoid it.  The issue is, is you’re just old enough that distinction is hard for them to make. So he decided to make the decision _for_ them and send you off before anyone could tell him otherwise or you could catch wind.”

“Ah, kriff,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair before dragging his other over his face and muttering another quiet curse.  “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Run,” she offers in a nonchalant tone, shrugging.  “I wouldn’t fight him if I were you. He knows how to break you, more than anyone else does.  Running is about all you _can_ do, at this point.”

He shoots her a glare.  “And what have _you_ been doing in the time since you left?”

Jyn puts the glass down for a moment, smirking.  “Just generally making things difficult for the Empire.”  He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Can I come with you, then?  If you’ve made it on your own this long—”

“No.”

He blinks in surprise.  “What?”

She lowers the glass from her lips to emphasize her point again.  “No.”

“Why can’t—”

“Because I left for a _reason,_ Ezra.  I have a target painted on my back.  Saw knew that. He made sure I knew it, too.”  Sighing, Jyn’s gaze drops to the woodgrain of the table as she traces along it with one finger.  “I don’t want your problems to get worse just because you thought it’d be a good idea to follow me around like a lost tooka kit.”

His mouth opens in indignation, voice nearly a growl as he says, “I’m not a _too—_ ”

“Oh look, you’re even growling.  You fit the part perfectly.”

Ezra’s beginning to remember why he didn’t like her half the time.

“Look, Jyn—”

“Quiet,” she hisses suddenly, gaze shooting to something beyond him.  He rolls his eyes; she’s played this game with him a million times before.

“I’m not falling for that aga—”

“ _Quiet!_ ”  She kicks his shin under the table and grabs his wrist with the other hand, tightly enough he knows she’s not joking when she looks at him intently.  Slowly, she nods to whatever she can see behind him that he can’t. “Don’t look,” she says, voice soft, “but there’s a bounty hunter watching us.”

His mouth goes dry.

“Imp?”

Jyn offers a slight shake of her head.  “Can’t tell. Always better to assume they are than not.”

“What about the exits?”

Her mouth twists into a frown.  “He’s blocking both.”

“Weapons?”

“Definitely a blaster, can’t see much else—oh kriff.”  Jyn swears again, quieter still, and Ezra finds it almost impossible to keep from turning now.

“What?  What is it?”

“He’s coming over here.  Here, I don’t think the sibling act’s working anymore.  Uh...Plan Besh.” Jyn waits until the last possible moment before leaning forward, pulling him into a kiss.  They haven’t done this for a year, and as he tries to make it look convincing despite his lack of experience and practice, he wonders if she’s done it with anyone else in the time since she left.

Personally, this is his least favorite of their plans, but it’s the most effective when they’ve failed at avoiding notice.  Jyn had explained it once, after the first time they’d practiced.

_“People avoid PDA, it makes them uncomfortable.  At the least, it’ll buy us time, at the most, it’ll dissuade them completely.”_

Still.  He doesn’t like doing it, especially with the person who’s as close to a best friend as he has.  But he does it regardless, because he doesn’t want to go back _there,_ weakly fighting back as they pump drugs into his system and make him scream—

He hears a footstep behind him right as Jyn pulls away, tapping his foot under the table in both a warning and an apology.  He knows what his job is now.

“See, this is _exactly why_ I left you!” he stage whispers.  “You always want to just _flaunt_ our relationship in front of everyone—”

“Oh, so _I’m_ the one flaunting it?!  _You’re_ the one who made sure _every single kriffing one_ of your friends knew just who you were—”

“So I’m not even allowed to tell anyone?!”

“Not until you get a kriffing _filter!_ ”  Jyn’s always been the better of the two at this, knowing just when to emphasize things and what to say to make the argument more realistic.

Still, the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as the Voice whispers that their act isn’t working.  He taps her foot twice as he opens his mouth to retort.

His warning is too late.

A hand grabs his shoulder, yanking him back against his chair.  He peers up into the eyes of one of Saw’s newer recruits. Of _course_ Jyn wouldn’t have recognized him.  But he certainly would have recognized her, and Ezra.

_Kriff._

“I _hate_ to interrupt your argument, but I need to speak to your boyfriend here for a minute.”

Jyn scoffs loudly.  “He’s not my boyfriend anymore, kriffing che—”

He doesn’t have time to warn her before the man swings his blaster up and hits her with a stun bolt on full power.  Jyn’s knocked out of her chair and back against the wall, barely letting out a yelp before falling unconscious. The man’s hand squeezes Ezra’s shoulder more tightly.  He fights back this time, struggling against the hold.

“You can’t just leave her like that, let me wake her up, she’s gonna ge—”

“Don’t worry, kid, she’ll be well taken care of.”  The man drops his voice as he leans in toward Ezra.  “We’ll make sure the Empire doesn’t get her. Or, for that matter, you.”

The Voice doesn’t have time to warn him before a soaked piece of fabric is shoved up against his mouth and nose.  He struggles briefly, but the drug wins out in the end, and he falls limp in the man’s arms as his vision darkens.

* * *

“ _Here’s the kid, and...a bonus._ ”

Kanan watches the distant exchange through a pair of macrobinoculars, mouth twisting into a slight frown as he finally tears his gaze away to glance at Chopper.

“What do you think?” he whispers.  The droid beeps quietly, the noise completely neutral.  Rolling his eyes and sighing, Kanan turns his attention back to the squad of stormtroopers on the landing pad.  Chopper’s somehow figured out how to amplify the sound of their conversation and send it through Kanan’s scopes and that, combined with the scopes themselves, make it easy for him to tell what’s going on.

“ _Very good, Agent.  We’ll take them from here._ ”

“ _Should I return to the field?_ ” the bounty hunter—well, clearly he’s _not_ a bounty hunter anymore, likely just an ISB agent from what it looks like—asks.  The ISB agent who’s actually dressed like one nods.

“ _Yes._ ”

“ _I need proof the kid’s dead first.  He’ll find it suspicious if I come back, say he’s dead, and don’t have proof._ ”

“ _In that case, we’ll get you some within the next couple of hours.  He was stubborn during interrogation last time, even under drugs, but the Inquisitor’s here now, and I’m sure he would love to...assist._ ”  The undercover agent nods, and as the uniformed agent gestures to the two prisoners, all but two of the ‘troopers step forward.

Kanan removes the scopes again, blinking.  There’s nothing he can do now, but he _does_ need to go inform the others of this change of plan.  Now that Ezra’s actually being held _within_ the complex...it’ll take more planning to get him out.

And that’s not even adding the so-called Inquisitor into the equation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezra's so bad at fake dating and fake breaking up that it physically wounds me but here we are and no that scene was definitely not inspired by Winter Soldier why do you ask?


	7. don't you listen (to the never)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drugging of a Minor (and effects of said drugs), Attempted Assault of a Minor, Electroshock Torture, Torture of a Minor

Ezra’s waking isn’t gradual.  It’s not by a kick, either—one he’s experienced often enough to grow tired of it—or even someone dragging him to his feet.

Rather, it’s icy water dumped on him from somewhere above, hard and fast enough that he genuinely worries he’ll drown for a brief moment.

The moment passes quickly, leaving him gasping for air as someone drags him to his feet and shoves him back against the wall.  “Quick,” a voice mutters; his vision is still clearing and he can’t tell who spoke.

“The cams are on,” someone else says.

“Which is why we’re doing this quick.  We’ve still got time before they need him in Interrogation.  Help me turn him around.”

His rapid blinking finally pays off as he starts to make out the beings pulling him away from the wall to turn him.

Stormtroopers.

He struggles, pushing back against their hold and then just trying to keep his back against the wall.  One merely slaps him, the plastoid armor giving him a nosebleed almost immediately upon contact. Stunned, he’s helpless to stop them as they turn him.

When he feels where their hands drift, however, he starts struggling again.  “Kriff _off!_ ” he growls, kicking back blindly and wishing, not for the first time, his hands weren’t cuffed behind his back.  One of the ‘troopers moves to pin them above his head, and he panics.

He fights back, opening his hands in the binders as much as he can and _willing_ something to happen.

And something does.

 _Something_ knocks the two stormtroopers back against the opposite wall and he freezes, risking a cautious glance over his shoulder.

They’re both still.

He swallows hoarsely, glancing at the door.  Closed again. They’re smarter than he gave them credit for originally.

As he watches, the door slides open.  Ezra’s eyes widen as he takes a step back against the wall, sniffing in a vain attempt to get his nosebleed under control as two _more_ stormtroopers enter.

Behind them, a helmeted woman.

The Voice tells him not to trust her.

* * *

The woman—he still hasn’t seen her face, and she hasn’t said a word around him yet—leaves shortly before the ‘troopers take him into another cell, only marginally bigger than the first.  His senses are on high alert, and he struggles for a few seconds upon sighting the ISB agent standing next to a torture table. The same agent, he realizes, as the one who questioned him the first time on Garel.  Maybe he’d simply been transferred.

Or maybe, Ezra is considered a “special case.”  That thought terrifies him even more than the first.

The ‘troopers shove him down onto the table, forcing his legs into the ankle cuffs before uncuffing his arms just long enough to cuff them on the table instead.  “I can take it from here,” the agent interrupts. “And tell the Inquisitor that I need to interrogate him _first._   They’re always too broken after she’s done with them.”

Ezra swallows at that.

The ‘troopers leave, and Ezra is left to watch with wide eyes as the agent moves around the table, double checking the restraints and tightening them as needed.  He grabs a hypospray from nearby, taking only a moment to check it before bringing it to Ezra’s neck.

“N– no, stop—“

“It will be easier if you remain still.”

Of course, he doesn’t _go_ still, instead trying to squirm away until the man sighs and places a hand on his head just long enough to inject the hypo.  As soon as he’s done he releases Ezra and moves back, putting the hypo back wherever he got it from.

The agent then presses a controller, and the table begins to rise into a vertical position.

His palms are sweaty; he remembers this.  Remembers the way the other interrogator, the one the man before him had traded off with occasionally, had threatened to break every one of his bones as slowly and painfully as possible.  Ezra shudders.

“They’ll be punished, you know.”

He blinks, gaze shifting to the agent as the man crosses to adjust something on the table next to Ezra’s head.  “Wh– what?”

“The stormtroopers who...accosted you.  They’ll be held accountable.”

“O– oh.”

Silence falls.  Ezra tries to watch whatever the agent’s doing, but it’s hard; the blinders on either side of his head make it difficult to see around.

And then he remembers Jyn

And the ‘troopers.

“Do they...do they do that to everyone?” he asks, swallowing hard.  _Not Jyn please_ please _not Jyn…._

The agent shakes his head as he crosses briefly into Ezra’s field of vision before disappearing behind the other blinder.  “No. It’s...uncommon, mostly reserved for those they deem harder to break.”

“Is– is the girl, the girl who came with me—“

The agent steps briefly out from behind the blinder, shaking his head.  “No. They won’t, and they haven’t.”

Ezra allows himself a shaky sigh of relief as the man moves out of view again.  “Why do– why do they let them do it?”

There’s a long, long period of silence in which the man doesn’t reply.  When he does, however, his voice is quiet. “To break them. I’m...not fond of that tactic, though...there are those who argue that its effectiveness outweighs the moral gravity of the situation.”  He steps in front of Ezra again, lowering his voice. “But it’s not common.” He turns and walks away again, out of sight though Ezra can sense he’s farther away now.

He speaks once more, though Ezra isn’t expecting it.  “In this case, they were not looking to break you, they...they were looking for a reaction.  And I believe you gave it to them.”

He doesn’t have a chance to reply; Ezra hears the click of a machine from behind him, though he doesn’t bother trying to see.  He knows his attempts will be futile.

“This is ISB Agent Kallus, operating number ISB-oh two one.  First interrogation of prisoner eight eight five oh six two five nine, also known as Ezra Bridger.  Purpose of interrogation: to recover general intelligence and whereabouts of the terroristic cell known as the Partisans, led by Saw Gerrerra.  Time: classified due to prisoner’s presence. Date: classified….”

The agent continues droning on, and Ezra finds it hard to stay awake.  He shouldn’t be falling asleep in this situation; there’s no reason to risk what happened earlier repeating itself.  He still doesn’t believe—or understand—the agent’s earlier words.

Finally, however, Kallus stops speaking.  Ezra blinks as he approaches and enters his field of vision, holding the teen’s gaze evenly.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“What?”

“Are you ready to talk?”  When Kallus repeats himself, however, it sounds distorted.  Ezra shrugs slightly.

“Yeah.  The weather’s nice today.”  He’s not sure why he says that, seeing as he hasn’t even been _outside_ today.  He giggles slightly at that.

The man seems irritated, though, so he quickly stops.

“Yes, the weather _is_ nice.  But let’s talk about the Partisans.”

“Ohhhh, I know who they are.”

“You do?”  Now his voice is more patient, encouraging.  “I don’t know them. Could you tell me something about them?”

He nods vigorously, starting to speak again.  “Yeah, yeah, there’s a guy, his name’s Saw, I think you know him?  He found me when I was small.” He laughs again, and the part of his brain that can still make some degree of sense of the situation tries to tell him to stop.  He doesn’t listen.

“Can you tell me where Saw is?”

“He’s on...he’s on….”  Ezra frowns, his entire face scrunching up as he tries to figure out what’s missing.  “Something’s wrong,” he says finally, glancing up at the agent. “I think I forgot to eat breakfast.”

“You can eat after you tell me where Saw is.”

“I don’t know, it’s...something’s just _gone,_ you know?  Like– like– like when you lose your speeder keys and you can’t find them and you don’t even know they’re gone but you just _know_ something’s missing and—“

Electricity hits him without warning and he yelps, breathing hard when it stops.  He glances up again to see Kallus holding a controller.

“What was that for?”

“Ezra.  I need you to stay on task.  Where is Saw Gerrera?”

“Did you know he had a sister named Steela?  I didn’t know that. I think it’s pretty cool, having a sister, you know?  I have a sister, but she left a year ago.”

“Really?  Could you tell me about Steela?”

“She’s de-ad,” he says, dragging out the word.  “Dead dead dead. _My_ sister isn’t.”

“And who is your sister?”

“I think you know her,” Ezra says in a singsong tone, grinning widely.  The agent still doesn’t smile, only watching him impassively. “Her name’s Jyn, and she’s not _really_ my sister, but sometimes when we were little we pretended, and—“

The door opens without warning and both the teen and the agent turn their attention to it.  Ezra frowns again, though not out of concentration; in genuine dislike this time.

“I don’t like her,” he announces loudly, nodding to the armored woman entering the room.  “I saw her earlier. She didn’t talk to me.”

“Inquisitor, I am in the middle of an _interro—_ “

The woman continues forward as if she didn’t hear Kallus.  When she reaches the teen, she presses something on her helmet and retracts the faceplate to reveal a Mirialan with narrowed eyes.  Her words are distorted, too, though more so than the agent’s. “You don’t have to like me, boy. Only know that from now on, you obey _me._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip ezra 2k19


	8. and there’s always time (to change your mind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drugging of a Minor (and effects of said drugs), Electroshock Torture, Implied/Referenced Hypothetical Brainwashing

When Kallus is finally allowed to continue  _ his _ interrogation, he’s shocked by the condition of the prisoner.

Bridger is completely limp in the restraints, sagging against them and allowing his head to drop without resistance.  His breaths are shallow; his chest hardly rises and falls with each. As Kallus approaches the unconscious terrorist, he notices several small tears in the arms of the youth’s jumpsuit.  Just big enough for hyposprays.

Kallus sets his jaw and withholds a sigh.  He’ll need to do a test to find out just  _ how _ drugged the prisoner is.

He calls for an interrogation droid, and waits on the side of the room while it draws blood from the prisoner and processes it.  It takes too long, in his opinion, for it to transmit the results of the test to his datapad.

His eyebrows shoot up as he reads over them, finally sighing and shaking his head.  It’s just like the Inquisitor to drug Bridger so much he likely won’t even be coherent when he comes to.

Kallus sends the droid out before continuing preparations for the rest of the interrogation as slowly as possible, trying to give Bridger time to rid his system of as much of the drugs as he can.  Finally, when he’s stalled for long enough, he sighs and moves in front of the prisoner. He nudges him gently, hoping not to aggravate any injuries the Inquisitor gave him before he needs to. “Ezra.  I need you to wake up.”

No reaction.

Kallus slaps his face lightly.  “Wake up.”

No reaction.

He wants to call for the droid again, to give Bridger a shot of something to wake him up, but he knows that any cocktail they give him at the moment could easily take hours to work with all the others still in his system, if it doesn’t kill him first.  Sighing, he turns to the remote for the table, staring down blankly at it for a minute before turning the electricity down to a much lower setting than the Inquisitor had it on and activating it.

There’s a sharp yelp, followed by a whimper that continues even when he shuts the electricity off again.  Something in him whispers that what he’s doing is wrong, that he should wait at  _ least _ a day and give the terrorist more of a break, but the other part of him reminds him that that’s exactly what the youth is—a terrorist.

He moves around to the front.

Bridger’s eyes flash to him and widen.  He whimpers again and pulls back against the table, swallowing hoarsely.

“Ezra.  I need to ask you some questions again, okay?”

The youth nods, eyes still glazed with fear.

“Good.  Where is Saw Gerrera?”

He shifts, clearly uncomfortable answering, and drops his gaze, eyes darting everywhere except Kallus’s face.  Sighing, he reaches out and grasps the youth’s chin lightly. “I need you to tell me where Gerrera is, Ezra.”

“I– I don’t– I don’t kn– I don’t know.”  He swallows hard, shifting again. He risks a glance up at Kallus again before looking away, swallowing once more.

Kallus decides to take a new approach.  “Is something bothering you, Ezra? You seem concerned.”

He nods.  “You– you– you have a snake around your ne– neck.”

Hallucinogens.  Of  _ course _ the Inquisitor would use a liberal dose on him.  Of  _ course. _

Kallus is about ready to quit his job.

Nodding, he offers a faux smile and returns to his former position behind the prisoner.  He’ll give him another shot of skirtopanol to loosen his lips; hopefully it won’t also make his grip on reality any looser than it already is.  Thankfully, the drug’s designed specifically not to interact negatively with most others, so the myriad of substances already in Bridger’s system won’t impact its effectiveness.

He injects the prisoner once he’s prepared the hypospray, and while he gives Bridger a minute to adjust to the new dosage, he grabs his datapad and pulls up the prisoner’s file.

What he finds is surprising.

Bridger is not, as he’d previously thought, a twenty-something from a family of no ones.  The boy—because he  _ is _ a boy, Kallus can see that now—is  _ barely _ seventeen, and the son of a pair of malcontents that made a series of broadcasts here, on Lothal, years ago.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, clearly.

He shoots a glance over at Bridger, brow furrowing in thought.  Maybe all he needs is re-education. After all, clearly Gerrera got ahold of him before the Imperial Care System was able to.

Yes.  Re-education.  Then the whole interrogation won’t be necessary.

But—oh,  _ kriff. _   The ‘troopers yesterday, he had thought it was an  _ adult— _ which was bad enough already—they had– they had—

He’s going to be sick.

He clutches the datapad tight enough he feels like he’ll crack the screen with one hand and braces the other on the wall, drawing in a shaky breath.  Kallus closes his eyes, debating calling in a replacement and taking the rest of the day off.

But no.  The boy will still be tortured, and he won’t be there to make sure that it at least abides by the Senate’s guidelines  _ somewhat. _   The Inquisitor has her own code of conduct, and he doesn’t feel particularly keen on discovering what that is today.  Or any day.

He sends in a quick request for the boy to be sent to re-education rather than further interrogation, and is beginning to turn away when his datapad dings.  When he sees the reply to the re-education request, he frowns; it’s much faster than normal. Opening it, he sees his inquiry was denied on the grounds that the Inquisitor already took control of him post-interrogation.

Kallus shoots another glance at Bridger before frowning in concentration.

What is  _ so important _ about the boy that an  _ Inquisitor _ is paying so much attention to him?

Kallus gets the feeling he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Join the Rebels Discord [here](https://discord.gg/A9aCvce)!


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